By Allan Yap & Nigel A. Skelchy
“Two doh-lah, I geeve you peece and qui-ette” she said, with the cheekiest of grins. You knew she meant it, this little extortioner with the charming, toothy grin.
Rewind to 12 hours earlier we had set foot in the LCCT, our Low Cost Carrier Terminal. I trail behind Allan and Keith, trusting them to lead me through the throngs of bodies to the right counter. After check in my feet automatically walk toward the nearest Starbucks/Coffee Bean (they're interchangeable aren't they? Sort of like Coke and Pepsi) and order my first cuppa of the day. The aroma of coffee alone begins to switch on my brain. One sip later and I feel human again. Enough to join in the conversation and survive the 2 hour flight.
As we disembark at Siem Reap, I drink in the air. It's different. It's the same time at home, same Earth (though an hour later due to a time zone shift) but owing to a quirk in geography and modern air travel and a good dose of psychological delusion, it's different! The airport is nice and clean. Small but seemingly well run. The luggage is picked up in short order and the driver proceeds to drive us to Bopha Angkor along with a friendly Canadian family.
You can't help but draw parallels with other places you've visited before and the inevitable comparisons pop up. "Oooo it looks like some towns in Kedah with all the Padi Fields!" "It sorta reminds me a little like Bali" this as we pull into the town proper. And it does. Lots of tourists. The Cambodians are petite, tanned people with the most friendly demeanour and are apt to smile at you at the drop of a hat. The tourists all just looked "foreign!" They all looked like they were walking around with great big neon signs flashing "Tourist" on their foreheads. You know that pose that tourists automatically fall into. The curious, almost overly polite unctuousness that drips from them especially when they ask the locals in slooooowwww English. "Doo you-u-u-u kn-ow th-e wa-ay to-o..." Hello, Cambodians aren't stupid. They just don't understand YOUR language!
We drop off everything at the hotel and we set off on the beginning of our adventure. Don't you just love that feeling when you've got 4 long days stretching ahead of you and you know you're going to be experiencing things which are new and novel?
The Bopha Angkor is situated right on the Banks of the Siem Reap River. The river itself is still undeveloped. By that I mean it's banks are still verdant and grassy and manicured and lacking in "riverwalk" cafes or a "riverside alfresco dining experience." In short, it looks like human beings have had a hand in keeping it tidy but (thank God) it doesn't look like Clarke Quay.
As a matter of fact, as we processed through into the town area you get a sense of the "frenchness" of Siem Reap. The grid system that the town is organised into, the beauty of the public spaces, and the abundance of colonial architecture in the main area of Psar Chaa, the Old Market, which was, for us, just across the Wat Preah Prom Rath Bridge.
Massage Parlours jostle for space side by jowl with eateries, some quite flash and some distinctly like our old Chinese coffee shops. A sarong and textile shop marks our entry into a dim and dingy passageway and into Psar Chaa proper. With cries of "kam baaiii...Ai keef you goood price..." following us, I do my best not to catch their eye. Otherwise your side may grow an appendage that you never knew you had. And the appendage will be talking incessantly in your ear, trying to persuade you to buy...something.
The clothing section opens out into a central area and immediately your nostrils are assaulted with the ripe, sweet, pungent smell of freshly killed fish and meat. "See hum" sit out on un-iced counters. Fish, meat, and seafood counters sit side by side with hawkers hawking their bowls of steaming hot soup noodles or friend mee hoon.
Then there they were. Two ladies sitting with their backs facing each other. One deboning fish and the other declawing and skinning frogs. Fresh padi frogs. They were doing it so fast that I'm not sure a trained chef would have kept up with them.
The light is natural and it streams in through plastic sheets lining the roof. We pass through a dried foods section and just as I think we've seen all that Psar Chaa has to offer, we walk into a seamstresses area. A lady stands in front of a seamstress with her arms up to her sides, getting measured for a new dress. About 6 ladies sit in two neat rows busily guiding pieces of cloth into their eventual transformation to clothes. You walk through the whirring machines and the next section, the ammoniacal smell of perm lotion hits you. As you look up you realise that someone is getting their hair done. All this in one market.
As we meandered our way out of Psar Chaa we happen upon Pub Street Alley and Pub Street. No prizes for guessing what is on Pub Street. After an earlyish lunch we made our way back to Bopha Angkor for a bit of a nap before heading out to the temple complex of Angkor. Now here's a little tip; if you go to the ticket counter at around 430 to 445pm you can buy your ticket and it will be dated for the following day but you can go into the temple complex and catch a sunset for free.
Our tuk-tuk (a term obviously borrowed from the Thai's) driver, zips us into Angkor and as he slows down to stop in front of Phnom Bakheng, we met our cheerful little extortioner.
Although Angkor Wat’s footprint only occupies a small amount of the space of the entire temple collection, the place is usually known by it’s name. It occupies such a huge space in the national Cambodian mindset that it’s even on their national Flag.
Slowly folding my pregnant middle into the rice paper thin plastic raincoat that I had just bought from one of the street urchins (unfortunately our little extortioner was 1 minute late or for her cheerful attempt at the most blatant blackmail with such a brass faced assertion, I would have certainly bought it from her) we splooshed down onto the street and prepared for an arduous climb up to Phnom Bakheng. Remember, words like “arduous” are all relative and for three lazy city boys who had woken up at 4 am that morning, the rain and the gentle, unpaved slope that lay ahead of us might as well have been Everest. I was more worried about wet shoes than I was about anything else. After all, I was wearing my most comfortable pair of New Balance. Not to mention my ONLY pair that I had with me.
It’s very easy to moan and groan about the rain being wet and how it makes everything rather mouldy feeling and looking, with that patina of grey that accompanies the big splatty drizzles we have in South East Asia. But while most may bemoan the fact that we’re not going to get one of those glorious, red, orange, purple hued, majestic, clichéd, visions from God, there is a soft mysterious beauty to greyness. Every line and edge which cuts like the sharpest of ceramic knives in bright sunlight becomes velvet coated like a cool, moist rose petal. The very greyness makes you look for the shadows which tell you what is there.
As we trudge up the muddy slope we passed 3 temple kids begging and a little further on a "minder." We had been warned about the street kids and instead of money we had planned to give them crayons and colour pencils. For one thing, just handing out US dollar notes breeds a certain contempt for the value of the money and the other thing was we didn't exactly relish being swarmed by clouds of kids patheticking us into a handout. We had also been told that there were professional begging syndicates who basically put these kids to work begging and then taking all their money away at their end of the day. The "minder" standing idly by did not ease our minds one bit!
You turn a bend, and over the next rise you're facing this ancient ruin. Facing steps which are almost as vertical as they are high you suddenly realise that you have to literally climb these steps on all fours. It's like crawling across the floor, only vertically.
Off in the misty distance you glimpse Angkor and everywhere you step on the top of this ancient pyramid-like ruin you breathe in the weight of history.
Slipping and sliding back down the hill and living in fear of my life Allan has an attack of the "good samaritans." My lovely other half decides it's time to pull out the crayons and show some of these wet, bedraggled kids some generosity. As we pass them Allan hands each of them a few crayons to play with. I happened to be dawdling behind fiddling with my camera when I happened to look up and catch the expression on one of the faces of this teensy tiny girl who had just received said crayons.
I guffawed. She started and proceeded to arrange her face into a more appropriate pathetic mien. Just as Allan had walked past she darted a glance at her companion across the way with a distinctly disappointed sneer of "what the f**k am I going to do with a few crayons?"
My kind hearted white knight had his heart dashed against the rocks of a street wizened professional. We decided not to be as giving and awaited a moment when we would be able to hand our little gifts to more appreciative recipients.
(Food adventures are going to be written separately).
By Allan Yap & Nigel A. Skelchy
"Mennyi?"
"Tízezer forintok."
For 10,000 Florins we gain entry. I take the ticket.
Turn right. Walk through the turnstiles. The gent at the stiles gives you the once over and hands you a large bib/small apron. The feeling of uncertainty, adventure builds. You walk through Soviet style, spartan but functional tiled rooms lined with rows on rows of lockers past partially clad men.
It's a men only day.
Walking down a spiral staircase only heightens the sense of adventure. Of uncertainty. Of not knowing what to expect.
It opens up into a surprisingly modern chamber. Straight ahead you see an archway which disappears into an uncertain gloom. The staircase continues downward.
The use of the bib/apron becomes obvious at this point.
'Why even bother' sort of flashed through my head. If it was to protect your modesty it wasn't doing its job at all. If anything it was calling attention to the very part it was supposed to draw attention away from. Imagine a grown naked man (fat, thin, muscular, whatever), dripping wet, with this bib/apron made of thin cotton draped around his crotch. Where are your eyes going to go first?
So it was with great hilarity that we went down to changing rooms and donned this peculiar garment designed to preserve one's modesty but in effect had all the men, gay or otherwise, checking out everyone else's lunch box. The only thing that was preserved was the air of slight homo eroticism which the bib/apron was designed to lift from the proceedings. Especially, after you went into the water.
Class in session! "Children, what happens to a tight tshirt when you wet it?"
"Teacher, teacher, me, me! It becomes wet and you can see EVERYTHING under it. And it makes everything more obvious because it outlines everything."
"Very good, little Johnny."
Or in this case, maybe not so little. For some at least.
Walking from the changing rooms through the archway into the shower area gave you a greater glimpse into the next chamber, which was where the hot springs were located. You had a shower, and then you walked through a final archway and this is why portals are considered powerful and mysterious objects.
The minute you take that last step through the arch, the tiling beneath your feet abruptly changes to medieval granite, worn away by centuries of naked feet rubbing them down to a smooth finish. Vaulted ceilings replace functional plaster. The light dims to the level of a gothic cathedral during winter. Damp, humid steam replaces cool, dry air. Once through the arch, you're transported from Soviet Chic to a space which is taken out of time. Everything is aged granite. The smell of slightly rotten eggs creeps into your nostrils. You're faced with eight pillars holding up a vaulted ceiling complete with small, dirty glass windows which allow in shafts of sunlight to shine like small searchlights on the glistening, wet bodies meandering their way across the large central pool. To your left and right there are 2 smaller pools. Beyond the large pool, there are another 2 small pools. If you connected all the dots, you'd have an X, with the large pool taking up the point of intersection.
From the internet
It was Alice through the looking glass.
You could have been in the 15th Century. There are no clothes to give you a frame of reference. Everyone is naked but for the bibs/aprons. It's like a place which is out of time.
From the internet
Each of the five pools was at a different temperature, denoted by a blurred out 25C or 32C or, in the one which poaches you, 42C. You can't escape the feeling of being checked out. Being given the once over. Whether by straight men or by gay men or those who say they're straight but whose eyes give lie to that fact, categorisations almost don't matter. It's a strange feeling and you would need a certain amount of security in yourself to be there alone. In my case, I'm glad to be with Allan and Keith. Security in numbers for me!
To the right of the X, you walk into the showers, steam rooms, and sauna. In the sauna you're shoulder to shoulder with other men. Ostensibly, to protect their arses from being burnt, they turn the bib/apron around and sit on that. Frankly, I think some were just there to show off. From chippolatas to what reminded me of a 2m bratwurst that we had in Vienna, they were all on display. The funny thing was, it reminded me of a recent study that was done. I can't remember which university it was but the hypothesis from an empirical study done on
men and women to improve the effectiveness of news article design showed that women look at faces first while men (straight or gay) looked at crotches first. It concluded that there were different gender imperatives during evolution that made us evolve that way. Personally I think it's to see whether or not another guy has larger tackle than you!
Rudac (pronounced Roo-darsh with a silent R for you American types) was my first foray into a world of thermal baths that I'd never seen before. The Baths itself were built in the 16th Century and Turkish artisans were imported to build them. Which explained the slightly oriental flavour of the whole place.
During our time in Budapest, we managed to go to another called
Szechenyi Baths which had a totally different ambience. It was mixed for one. Everyone was in swim suits and it was family day. Hundreds of citizens of the city are soaking for therapy, exercising, socialising, playing chess in the pools, steaming, sauna-ing. The outdoor pools reminded me of a time when skiing in Austria, we would be swimming in an outdoor pool, run out, roll around in snow, and jump back in. It was cool that day. Around 10C. The pools were steaming. Enough to lightly poach kailan.
Furthermore, it was grand. It looked like a Royal Summer Palace. Light, airy, bright, everything that Rudac was not. Don't get me wrong. I loved both experiences. It was just as night and day as you could get.
It was amazing. Culturally, Budapest-ians(?) use the baths as social outlets. For their aches and pains and for meeting friends. Much like we Malaysians do over food. Frankly, I think it's a healthier way of bonding. But for the drama of a first time, Rudac was hard to beat.
By Allan Yap & Nigel A. Skelchy
As we determinedly - "determinedly" because my body was still struggling to roll out of bed while I was at the dive centre - pulled on our wetsuits and prepared for the pre-dive briefing, I was fumbling to regain the rhythm of the dive again.
Wetsuit on-booties on-mask, check- weight belt with weights, check-fins, check-pointer, check-underwater casing, check and checked in a tub of water for superficial leaks-BCD, check-regulator attached in the correct orientation, check, buddy, check. Definitely quite a checklist to go through before even stepping on the boat.
At Redang Kalong they're very helpful. I would even venture to say that they spoil us. The tanks are lugged to the boat for you. All you have to do is carry your own BCD, Regulator, Weight belt, Mask, Fins, and Snorkel onto the dive boat. As an extra precaution, the empty underwater casing for our camera came with me. Rather than risk the camera wholesale, I was advised to take the empty case down to test it first.
Obviously, that first dive without a camera meant that we'd see all the big pelagics. After all, that's Murphy's Law. First a Black tip reef about 5 to 6ft long, then a white tip reef shark, a little smaller.
In a way, it all worked out well. After 8 to 9 months of not diving my buoyancy was not up to par yet and with 4 weights I was sinking like the proverbial rock. Making a mental note to remove a weight from the weight belt - and being very pleased about it - we surfaced with ample air and an anticipation for what tomorrows' dives would bring!
By Allan Yap & Nigel A. Skelchy
One can forget to take a moment to stop and smell the roses. Literally.
Gorgeous flower - The ant thought so too
The birds are chirping, traffic noise is only recognizable as a distant Doppler roar, the sun is shining brightly and dominating that is the sweet, sweet sound of stillness.
No insane ringing of phones, no clamouring for attention, no orders to be filled, no duties to be completed before the end of the day.
Allan and I decided to take a slow, deep breath and head up to Fraser’s Hill for a couple of nights.
It is so incredibly invigorating to be enveloped in a stillness that is almost never present in Kuala Lumpur anymore. There is so much to hear though. The cicadas cyclical chirping, the crickets calling, and wait, that sounds like birds’ singing.
At some point, your body says “enough.” We actually came to that point a little before Chinese New Year. Things that wouldn't have been an issue became contentious and things felt like they were beginning to crowd in. Perspective was in short supply and mountains were growing out of mole hills. But the work needed to be completed and it wasn’t till this week that we managed to take a couple of days off.
In actual fact, this short little breather is really a stop gap measure. Our
Godson J is coming up and a whole bunch of us are going to Redang and staying at
Redang Kalong. A few of us are getting certified and the rest of us are certifiable anyway, so we're going DIVING!
But back to Fraser's. We slept. And slept. And slept. Stayed at the Methodist bungalow which was clean but basic.
The Methodist BungalowThe adventure bug kicked in as we wound our way back down to the bottom of the Gap. But that's part 2 of the entry.
Great Local Coffee with a smidgen of Milk
First night dinner - Chicken Chop
